


just a part of the routine; everybody's got a job, everybody's got a dream

by Abreu



Category: Hamilton - Miranda, In the Heights - Miranda/Hudes
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Anxiety Disorder, Bilingual Character(s), Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Bittersweet Ending, Break Up, Comedy, Dad Friend Hercules Mulligan, Depression, Dysfunctional Family, Día de los Muertos | Day of the Dead, Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler Deserves Better, Español | Spanish, F/M, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Gay John Laurens, Gen, Human Disaster Alexander Hamilton, Hurt Alexander Hamilton, Idiots in Love, Immigration & Emigration, Implied/Referenced Suicide, In the Heights References, Late Night Conversations, Latin Kink, M/M, Musical References, Nonbinary Marquis de Lafayette, Not Cheating, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Protective Usnavi de la Vega, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, Therapy, Time Skips, Tragedy/Comedy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26408656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abreu/pseuds/Abreu
Summary: A dream isn't some sparkling diamond, there's no shortcuts, sometimes, it's roughAlexander Hamilton came to New York in hopes a better future and a better life; He was ready to fight everyone and everything to get the same opportunities. With his newfound friends, he was ready to take on the world.Phillip Hamilton came back home with shame and failure, how to tell your parents you dropped out? His father had left all he loved and knew to make it in this city, and Phillip couldn't even make one year of college.A story of two generations of immigrants, that surprisingly, had the same hopes and dreams.(Jn the Heights/Hamilton fusion)
Relationships: Aaron Burr/Theodosia Prevost Burr, Alexander Hamilton & George Washington, Alexander Hamilton & John Laurens & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette & Hercules Mulligan, Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, Theodosia Burr Alston/Philip Hamilton
Kudos: 9





	just a part of the routine; everybody's got a job, everybody's got a dream

**Author's Note:**

> This dedicated to all our immigrant parents who have sacrificed part of their lives and dreams so we could live and dream. Thank you. And to us, who carry the weight of not knowing where to fit and need to prove their sacrifices didn't go to waste. Thanks.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had changed just a bit. He had hair now, an expensive suit with sunglasses that screamed the same expensiveness, he looked ashamed of being there, his phone on his hand, looking at the aisles, but that frown, Alexander knew it by heart, he had seen it a thousand times before. He had seen it the day he ruined his career.
> 
> The figure was distracted by his phone that when he approached the counter, he didn't realize who was running it, or perhaps he didn't want to. But Alexander smiled, for what was life if not to make fun of old friends. The man had grabbed an energy drink, simple.
> 
> "Well, if it isn't Aaron Burr, sir," Alexander said in the same tone as he had done multiple times before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came from Lin's interview in where he said "[About teaching] It was one of those 'I could see myself very happy doing this for the rest of my life' and decided to stop, to take the riskier route."
> 
> This is something that would resemble if Lin had stayed a teacher only just that Hamilton didn't become overly ambitious.

**2016**

Alexander Hamilton did not sleep. That was not a question, or a guess or even statement. It was a fact. In his youth, he did not sleep the nights thanks to his endless sprees of writing and studying, nowadays, with six children in his house, one at college and one on its way, he did not sleep thanks to the fact he had to work to pay his bills. Not to forget the debts.

He hated the cold of the New York winter, and he loved the heat of its summer that reminded him of his country which made his work a bit more bearable when summer hit. His bodega, the one his deadbeat father had inherited him, and which initially was to be sold decades ago, had become an essential part of the barrio and Alexander had no choice but to comply. 

His children helped once in a while, Angelica, when she was not studying or admiring the G.W bridge from the roof, loved to run the cashier; Alexander Jr (Alex they called him) helped count inventory when he wanted something from his dear dad; And James, he helped clean when they closed.

The other three children were too young to help at the bodega but you would find them scattered around it playing with their toys or eating _piraguas_. 

Indeed, Alexander Hamilton had a lot of mouths to feed and who depended on him. And that's why he could not afford to take any breaks, which would've been his younger self's dream (the non-stop part, not the drowning debts and work part) but now, all he wanted was to sleep in. But with an eighteen years old, a fifteen years old, a thirteen years old, a nine years old, a four years old and a two year old (not to forget the baby on its way), there was not much peace or silence in the Hamilton household.

But today was different.

Well, the household was as (if not even more) loud and reckless as ever. Perks of having and living in a Latin American household. But today was the day Phillip, the oldest of Alexander's children came back from his, really, _really_ expensive college for a two week vacation after spending a whole year in the other side of the country. Work didn't stop because Phillip was coming back but it did change the energy of those who had to work.

Alexander, who usually was exhausted to the bones, by the time he had to work, looked lively today. Even though it was _6:00_ in the morning.

"Can't sleep?"

Eliza's voice made the excited Alexander turn around. Their bed wasn't the most comfortable (cheap though) and it squeaked every time there was an abrupt movement, and it squeaked like hell when he turned around but it did little to slow his happiness.

"When can I ever?" He gave her a sheepishly smile followed by a kiss in the cheek.

"True but now it seems you _deliberately_ couldn't sleep."

"Phillip's plane landed three hours ago, he must be in his way."

"At six in the morning? Ay, _Jano_ , just because you don't sleep doesn't mean he doesn't as well," she teased.

 _Jano_ was the nickname Eliza kept calling him ever since they met, for Alex's real name was _Alejandro_ which was basically the Spanish translation of Alexander. He had kept Alejandro as a name for a year before he got enough of the Americans trying to say his name or misspelling it, in which he adopted the name Alexander. 

He laughed and he stretched. "Well, my fair lady, a man's gotta pay his bills, and I'm going to be late if I stay in bed for one more minute."

"Always seizing the moment, close the door after you're gone, will you?"

He gave her another kiss before getting up and sitting in the side, he grabbed his glasses from the nightstand and put them up, the world was clearer and he stood up. The routine was fairly boring, he would go to the bathroom and shower (which was a blessing considering he was late in the water payments and the day was already getting hotter and hotter), then he would dress himself, grab a banana or something like that and head to the store.

As he hopped to the shower, he realized they didn't have hot water, he made a mental note to write _no hot water_ in the list of things they lacked in his phone. He did not flinch at the contact of the ice water with his skin, he just grabbed the soap and started washing himself.

 _Phillip's nineteen now, my God, where does time go?_ He thought as he let the water drip from his hair. 

Alexander Hamilton had come to America, at the age of nineteen, to make his dreams come true, he came with only one baggage and his incredible ability to write. He had taught himself English, dominated more or less French and well, Spanish was his native tongue. He came with the hopes of changing the world, of being someone.

Columbia University, the college he had enrolled and the one Phillip had chosen but hadn't gotten in, was the place he had made his lifelong friends and had had their fare share of trouble when it came to political ideologies and parties. Alexander, in the cold shower, remembered John Laurens, Aaron Burr, Hercules Mulligan and Marquis de Lafayette, his friends. The young men he had tried to change the world with.

He shook his head, it had been a long time since that. Hercules owned his tailor shop a few blocks before Alexander's bodega, Lafayette was either in France or somewhere in the Bronx, Burr had opened his own legal firm downtown for what the TV ads said, and Laurens was in South Carolina with his family.

Alexander rinsed his hair and turned off the water. He inhaled and then exhaled. His youth was gone, long, long gone but the one of his children was just beginning, and he was going to enjoy it by trying to be there.

He dressed up quickly. He put a white tank top underneath his favourite red _guayabera_ (that he bought in his trip from Mexico) shirt, some ragged blue jeans, his grey flat cap and worn out sport shoes. 

As he stepped out to the hallway and closed the door behind him, he encountered Angie, exiting her bedroom with her pyjamas and a messy bun, it was awfully early for any of his kids to be up when it was summer time which is why Alexander was surprised at seeing his daughter up.

"Good morning, dad," she smiled and yawned.

"Good morning, Angie, couldn't sleep?"

"Nope, Phillip comes home today, we haven't seen him in over a year, how could I?"

He chuckled but looked at his watch, he sighed. "Yeah, today will be a busy day, let's hope your brothers behave."

"What did you do when you were his age? You came here when you were nineteen, right?"

"Yeah, yeah, I did. And I came here for a better life, and for you, kids, to have a better childhood and life."

"Are you happy with it?" She asked, looking genuine and sincere.

He hesitated, not because he wasn't happy with his life, more because he did not expect that question. He stumbled on his words. "Of course I am, I have you kids and your mother, what else could I ask for?" He gave her a kiss in her forehead. "Gotta go, sweetie, have a nice day!"

"See ya in the store, dad!"

As he walked away and saw her heading for the bathroom, he whispered-yelled. "There's no hot water, don't worry, I'll fix it once I get to the bodega!"

He went to the kitchen, looking at his watch and realizing he would only have time to make coffee and grab a donut to eat on his way. The day was already hot, even if it was just beginning, he prayed silently that the fridge would not die on him today, for he needed the milk to make the coffee sweet. He did not drink coffee with milk, he liked it strong to keep him awake but he knew Angie and Alex Jr liked their coffee with milk.

He opened the fridge and the hum of the motor told him the fridge was still alive and kicking, now he only worried for that of his bodega. He turned the stove on and place the kettle filled with water, while he waited for the water to boil, he grabbed a cup and threw a couple of tablespoons of instant coffee in it. The sounds of traffic and music still relative peaceful.

_Twenty-seven years, my God, twenty-seven years, where does time go?_

With forty-six years of age, grey hair taking the place of his black hair, Alexander could say he was still the same workaholic as he was in his youth, even though it didn't consist in writing essays and printing refutals as it before and was more of getting the old bodega to still work. He couldn't help but open really early in the morning and close really late at night, not to forget the odd jobs here and there he would take to make more money.

But things had changed, hadn't it?

He used to be just one man, with impulsive and reckless youth but with only himself to take care of, now he had a wife and kids and even though the same boldness stood with him, he had taken a more cautious path, more safe. Less Alexander Hamilton aged nineteen and more Aaron Burr with his 'talk less, smile more' attitude.

Of course, if he had _actually_ taken Burr's advice, he would probably not be drowning in debts. Old habits die hard, he guessed.

The kettle began ringing and without wasting another second, Alexander poured the hot water on the cup, took a spoon and mixed the substance well.

He drank the coffee quickly, it wasn't that hot to begin with. The coffee at his store was better than this, he knew so, but he wasn't going to waste it for himself when it was the costumers that paid for it. He took a donut that the neighbour had brought them a few days ago and took a bite out of it, a good donut but that was given thanks to the local bakery. He took another bite and decided that was going to be his breakfast.

He looked at his watch again. _6:45 AM_. He had fifteen minutes to get to his store, he had good timing, it was only two blocks from his apartment. He grabbed his keys, wiped the sweat already forming on his brow and with carefulness to try not t wake up the rest of the kids, he opened the door and exited. With the same carefulness, he closed it and locked it. Already out, he straightened his posture and went out to the world.

The first thing he noticed was the sunrise, beautiful, maybe one of the rewards he got for waking up every day at that goddamn hour, then he noticed the cars and traffic getting more relevant with each passing minute and in the end, he noticed the heat, which was even worse than when he was in his apartment. It would be a busy day thanks to it, yet it didn't matter, today his son would come home, with success in his life.

He walked down the street with a cheerful grin plastered on his face as he hummed a tune and writing in his phone the things he lacked of to remember to either buy them or fix them. He would phone the water company once he was at the store, hope he could give them a deposit to bring back the hot water for a time being meanwhile he sorted out his financial issues. 

At the corner of the street, he saw a _piragüero_ setting up his prices on his mobile stand, he recognized him, for he had been the same piragua guy that moved to the barrio when Phillip was just five years old. He was the voice of the barrio in times of heat.

" _¡Oye! Piragüero ¿cómo le va?_ " Hey, piragüero, how is it going?

The man turned around and laughed as he placed his signs on the side. " _Como siempre, señor Alexander._ " As always, Mister Alexander.

He gave the man a fist pump and continued walking. His bodega didn't stand out as something big, it was average with a sign of his last name, right at the corner of the next block. If there was something Alexander prided himself was his bodega's organization, ever since he was little, he had the 'if you're gonna do something, do it good' mentality and that was also for his business.

The bodega had been property of his father, maybe the one thing his father had inherited him, and when Alexander found it, it had been in really bad shape. But with time, patience and much stubbornness, the bodega was now a necessary part of the neighbourhood. Even though it wasn't much, and it took more than what it gave, he liked his bodega, and he worked for it really hard.

He took out the keys and proceeded to open the door, the small ring of the bell sounded as he stepped in. He looked at the interior of his store, the aisles were clean, the shelves were stocked and everything seemed to be working alright. He turned on the lights and went right to the counter, he smiled when he saw the big wall behind it painted with the flag of Puerto Rico and the island. He had made such mural when he was twenty, with his friends, while they were trying to pay the tuition.

He gave one quick glance at the bodega before the day started and realized how much it had changed since that winter he had found it decades ago.

Alexander turned on the radio besides the cashier and began working.

* * *

**1989**

He hated the cold. It hadn't been even a week since he came to New York City and he already hated the cold. He was also running late to meet the executor and notary. 

He blamed it on the public transportation system of the city and the streets too. Who the hell was the person that decided _numbers_ were good names for streets and subways?

In the island, that godforsaken island, the temperature didn't get lower than 73 degrees, it could go higher, and it usually did but never lower than that. Here, in the wonderful city of New York in the seasonal early winter it was 55 degrees and for someone who had only experimented heat, that was hell.

After a lot of detours, getting lost in Brooklyn, and perhaps insulting four to three cops along the way, Alex found his way to 211 W 92nd St, (again, who was the person who said 'yeah, let's make _numbers_ , fucking _numbers_ names of streets'), and he was just glad of the warm air that hit him as he entered.

He went to the secretary, shivering and in a bad mood already.

The woman, mid30s, blond hair and glasses, looked up and smiled, that generic smile of always. "Hello, sir, how can I help you today?"

"I have an appointment with," he took out a paper and gave it to her. "Whoever this is."

"Mr Smith? Oh, he's waiting for you, Mister _Alijandri_?"

"Alejandro."

" _Ali—_ "

"Alexander," he sighed. "Alexander Hamilton," he said.

"Right," she smiled. "Well, just take the stairs up three floors and then make a right, his office is in the end of the hall."

"Thank you."

Without wasting any more time (because if you wasted time, you would never gain it back), he went up the stairs, the sudden exercise and the warm air conditioner making him sweat through his clothes, making him even more impatient and angrier. Why would his deadbeat father want to give him _anything_? Why not James? He had seen James way more times than he had seen him, and James actually cared about the dude, Alexander could care less.

But here he was, in New York City where dreams are made, or so everyone said. If he played his cards right, he could make it to New Jersey and go to Princeton University, show them the reasons why he should be granted a scholarship and then become something bigger than life. Oh yeah, he could see right there, Alexander Hamilton, the name soon everyone would know.

Yet, he had to take care of whatever his absent father had left him after his untimely death.

When Alex himself didn't have one penny to spare.

He took the right and found himself in the door of the notary. He inhaled and then exhaled. He entered.

"Just tell me what I inherited, where it is and what do I have to sign, then I'll be on my merry way."

There was two men, each with suits in that big, round wooden table, who frowned as Alexander entered. The first one looked around mid40s and had white hair, the second one was younger and had coffee on his hand. For a few seconds, neither of them knew what to do or say but then the first man smiled and cleared his throat.

"Mister Alejandro, come in, please, it won't be long." 

"Look, I have a lot of things to do today, I really can care less about what that deadbeat man left me but anyways, here I am, don't take too much of my time."

He sat down in between the men who shared a look, quickly, his leg bounced. They proceeded to sit down, the younger one of them taking a folder out of his suitcase, opening it and revealing a contract of some kind; the older man took out his glasses and pulled the folder closer to read.

"Well it seems that James Hamilton, well—"

"He was poor," Alexander finished his sentence. 

"Most of what it says here on this will has become part of the City of New York as means to pay his debts," the younger man said. "My partner here, Mister Smith, however was able to find something."

"It appears as James A. Hamilton did pay and owned a small grocery store in the neighbourhood of Washington Heights. It's the only asset in his will that has not been auditioned or sold to the City."

Alexander frowned. "A small grocery store?"

"A _bodega_ , Mister Alija—"

"Alexander, please," he corrected the man impatiently. "I know what a bodega is, but why is it the only thing that he has left? Doesn't he have bigger debts?"

Mister Smith furrowed his eyebrows as he read. "Well, it seems the bodega was in the name of another person and Mister James shared interests."

"What was the name?"

"A Rachel Faucette."

"Do you know this name, Mister—," the younger man began. 

"Yes, she's my mother." He cut him off abruptly.

After another couple of awkward seconds, Mister Smith cleared his throat once more. "The bodega is located in 180 Audubon Avenue, if you wish to know."

_180 Audubon Avenue, where the fuck is that? And why did this goddamn city think numbers were a great street name?_

"What do I have to sign, or like?"

"The lease and that would be about it, by reading the contract and agreeing to it, I shall give you the keys, and you may proceed with your day."

"Can I sell it?"

"Well," the young man said. "You would have to see the conditions of the building and all but, yes, you could if you wish."

"Well, then," Alex smiled. "Where do I have to sign, I'm running late for another meeting."

After he signed all those goddamn papers, without forgetting to read what was there, he was given the keys. The keys smelled heavy of tobacco and whiskey and made Alexander roll his eyes, even in death, there was something of James Hamilton lingering in the land of the living.

If he didn't know New York, he didn't know New Jersey less. He was already lost as he stepped outside the building, getting hit by a cold gust of air and remembering how much he hated, despised the cold weather. All he could hear was the sounds of traffic, people walking by and road work. He knew there was a subway somewhere near for he had taken said subway before yet he doubted if that subway could bring him to New Jersey.

If he wasn't poor, he would've gotten in a taxi, although he doubted the traffic would've helped much, but he was indeed poor as fuck ergo he needed to take the public transportation of a city that thought numbers were a good name for their avenues and streets. He didn't like walking in the cold but he had no more options, he just hoped he wouldn't become ill. If there was anything he hated more than the cold weather, it was illnesses.

He checked his watch, he made an estimate of how long would it take him to get to Princeton, and began walking. 

He got lost, as if it was predicted, more than once, and every time he got lost and had to make turns and returns and shit like that, he grew even more impatient and angrier. For Alexander had never gotten things easily, but this was just getting ridiculous.

After an hour of getting lost, cursing at God, making turns and making detours, he finally got to Princeton University, cold and miserable. 

They were going to let him enter by grace of God or help them because Alexander did not have the patience for this. 

"Hello," he smiled sheepishly to the young secretary, trying his best to look lively. 

"How can I help you?"

"Well, you see, I'm thinking of getting into this college but well, you see, I wish to graduate with as much rapidity as my exertions would enable me to do."

It seems the secretary of one of the most prestigious college didn't understand complex English.

"I wish to graduate in two years' time instead of four and I'm here to meet whoever is in charge."

"Sir, I'm afraid that graduating in two years time is dangerous, Mister Witherspoon has closed that program—"

"Sweetie, let me tell you here, I have traveled 1,614 miles to get here to this _land of dreams and_ bullshit like to graduate in two years' time."

"Yes, I understand," she addressed. "But the last person to have graduated in that period stamp got really ill."

Alexander scoffed. "It takes a lot more to knock me down than just two years of university."

The secretary looked at him. He did not know how he looked like, he estimated that he looked unhinged, cold, miserable and really angry and all those would be correct. But he wanted to make his dreams come true, he did not care if he had to be miserable, if it meant he could get his dreams to come true. And he sure as hell wasn't going to let a _secretary_ disrupt his dreams.

"I'll get a hold of Mister Witherspoon, you can wait," she pointed at the seats. "Where did you say you're from?"

Alexander shook his head. "I never said I was from anywhere."

"Yeah but your accent, it's not from New York or New Jersey."

_Don't punch a woman, you dumb fuck._

" _Puerto Rico_."

"Ah, well, have a seat."

It took twenty minutes for someone to come get him, in that time, he took his notebook and began writing, quite rapidly if he was honest. Not to forget his bouncing leg.

"Oh, you're left handed."

_My fucking God, was is it with this woman!_

"Mmh?"

Before the woman could say anything, a robust man in a suit (he should get one of those) followed by another man skinnier and with glasses, they looked at Hamilton and the robust man smiled.

"I'm John Witherspoon, president of the college, nice to meet you..."

"Alejandro but call me Alex."

"Well, then, shall we go to my office?"

Alexander shook his head. "It won't take long, sir, all I'm asking is to enter this prestigious college and graduate in two years' time."

The other man stiffed. 

"Excuse me, young man but we do not offer that program anymore for safety purposes."

Alexander rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I heard but look," he took his folder from his backpack. "I don't have that kind of time or money to be here for four years," he handed John his folder.

John looked at it, frowning as he took it, with the other man getting closer to read as well. 

Alexander waited for a couple of minutes as the two men read his file. It wasn't much, to be honest, he hadn't actually finished high school thanks to that hurricane that hit the island, he didn't get a high school diploma but he hoped that the essay, the one that got him off the island with others, would convince the men to give him a chance.

"You're from Puerto Rico, huh?" The other man said, a undertone sounding venomous.

"Yes, well, my father was from Europe but my mother was from the island."

"You were born there, then?"

Alexander bit his lip as he tried to conceive politeness in his voice. "A problem with so?"

John finally looked up and sighed. "Son, this—," he motioned at the folder. "This is incredible, I mean, better than a lot of the students here but, sadly, I can't let you graduate in just two year' time. I'm sorry."

"But sir—"

"Look, kid," the other man cut him off. "You know how many kids have gotten into these exact door with the same goal as you? Thousands. How many have achieve it? Dozens."

Yeah, fuck the dude.

"I am not a kid, nor I am your son," he pointed at both of them. "I can prove myself, what? You worry I will kill myself if I try to graduate in two year' time?"

"Look, the board made these new restrictions, we cannot break them just because you rolled in," John said.

"Do you even have a place to sleep?"

"As a matter of fact, I _own_ a business in 180 Audubon Avenue," he stared at the man with glasses and showed him the keys.

"Well, why don't you go work there, instead of risking all for this. Not to mean, young man, but people like you don't make it here. You're not Aaron Burr, are you?"

"Hey," John warned as he placed his hand on that man's chest.

"What did you say?" Alexander got closer, looking at the man. " _People like you_. That's what you said, what the fuck does that mean?"

"Hey, look," John tried to break up the tension. "He didn't mean anything by it."

"No, he did, didn't you?" Alexander moved the president's hand off his shoulder. "What did you mean? Go ahead, tell it to my face, I dare you."

"People like you, _spics_. Here trying to make a _better future_ for themselves. You, Mexicans, whoever, you're the problem," the other man answered. "We all know you won't make it, you will probably go to your stupid business, get tons of debts and die in that same business."

Alexander was sure that man didn't expect his left hook to meet his nose.

He later learned he had punched the bursar. But out of that stupid meeting, he took two things with him, the name _Aaron Burr_ and the fact he wasn't going to become what that man said. He wasn't going to live in that bodega his deadbeat father inherited to him, he was going to sell it, he was going to become a successful lawyer, he was going to show them.

He wasn't going to be a nobody.

* * *

**2016**

"The _New York Times_ will be two dollars, the chips one dollar and the condoms will be five," Alexander said that last part quietly, trying not to embarrass the man.

The man gave him the money, Alex placed his items in a bag and gave him his change. 

The morning was overwhelming as always, kids coming to buy chips, ice cream; the workers buying their coffee and breakfast; the _chismosas_ coming to gossip while they chose cleaning products and Alex smirking as he sipped his coffee. It was tiring, he had to unload the fruits in the back, count inventory and run the counter. But he was still in good spirits, for Phillip was coming home.

He had send him a text over WhatsApp saying he would drop by around _11: 00 AM_. Alexander checked the clock and knew there were only a few hours left, he also concurred that the water company should be open by now, to try and fix the whole hot water deal. Eliza had texted him she wanted to shower for the party they were throwing Phillip.

He went to the left side of the counter where the wall phone resided, he looked at his small notebook where the phone number was written. He dialled it.

"Hello," he spoke after a few seconds. "I'm calling because your company has cut the hot water to my residence—yeah, exactly—no yeah, I'll hold."

In that moment, the bell rang indicating a new costumer had arrived. Given the position of where Alexander was situated, he saw the person. 

He had changed just a bit. He had hair now, an expensive suit with sunglasses that screamed the same expensiveness, he looked _ashamed_ of being there, his phone on his hand, looking at the aisles, but that frown, Alexander knew it by heart, he had seen it a thousand times before. He had seen it the day he ruined his career.

"Oh, yes, I'm here," he said over the phone, though his eyes followed the figure. "Yeah, well, you see, sir—yeah, I know I'm behind payments but it's my son's return and you know, I need hot water—no, I understand," he sighed. "Can I give you a third of the payment if you restore my hot water today? Okay, thank you—yes, I won't forget, I'll do it right now."

He hung up. He needed to access his bank account to pay those men. He wondered how in the hell in his youth he had thought that capitalism worked.

He ran his hand through his hair, feeling slightly overwhelmed but the moment was over as quickly as it came. He would try not to worry too much about his debts, loans and financial problems today. No, today was a happy day. And even with all those debts, that bodega was his life's work, he was proud of it, it was worth it.

The figure was distracted by his phone that when he approached the counter, he didn't realize who was running it, or perhaps he didn't want to. But Alexander smiled, for what was life if not to make fun of old friends. The man had grabbed an energy drink, simple.

"Well, if it isn't Aaron Burr, sir," Alexander said in the same tone as he had done multiple times before.

The man, who recognize that voice anywhere in the world, looked up really quickly. He stayed quiet a couple of seconds. "Alexander!"

"You have created quite a stir, sir!"

"I'll call you later," he said to the person over the phone. "Well, I'll be damned, Alexander Hamilton in front of my own eyes, didn't realize this was your store."

"Yeah, even though you came here countless of times when we were young."

"How long has it been? Ten years?"

"Sixteen years, to be precise," Alexander would never forget that date.

"Well, damn," Burr chuckled. "You cut your hair," he pointed at his short hair.

"It's just up to my neck now," he joked. "You seem to have _grown_ hair."

"Yeah, well, times flies by, doesn't it? How's the family?"

"Oh, they're alright, added five more members to it and another one of its way. Also," he couldn't help but share the news. "Phillip, my oldest, returns from college after a whole year away!"

"I remember Phillip," Burr smiled. "That's how long it has been?"

"How's your daughter?"

"Oh, she's doing great! Enrolled in Princeton, like her old man."

There was a couple of seconds of silence and then Alex realized he had to scan Burr's energy drink. "That will be three dollars."

"Didn't think you would settle here," Burr commented as he reached for his wallet. "After all the shit you said about this place and how your career was going..." he stopped.

"I'm happy here," the reply came with more bitterness than intended. Alexander shook his head. "I'm _actually_ happy here. We're a community, and yeah, we're not much but I'm proud of what I have accomplished here."

"I didn't mean—"

"It's okay," he cut the man off. "It happened long ago and it was _my_ fault, it's all just water under the bridge," he smiled. "In fact, why don't you come over by tonight to celebrate Phillip's return? Oh, yes! You can bring the Theodosias, my wife would be delighted! The whole barrio will be there, you won't feel alone!"

"Oh, I can't possibly burst into your life like that, Alexander," Burr said, giving the money to him.

"Nonsense, come on, Aaron, it will be fun, when was the last time you went out and had fun? Your boring life as a lawyer can be put on hold for a night, please, it will be great."

After a few seconds of considering, Burr remembered Alexander wouldn't give up until he got what he wanted. "Alright, fine, shall you text me the address?"

"Is your number still the same?"

"Yes, Hamilton, it is."

"Then I'll call you later, the number should be on my notebook," he gave him back the energy drink. "Here."

Burr took it, smiled once more and went on his way. Alexander's eyes followed him as he stepped outside the door and even until he could not see him anymore. He didn't realize his heart was racing and that his throat was dry until he left. He closed his eyes, bit his lip and placed a hand on his chest. He took deep breathes, ignoring his shaking hands, and he exhaled.

The bell rang again but he tried to ignore it.

"Dad? Dad, are you alright? _Angie_.

He opened his eyes and forced his hands to stop shaking and smiled. "Yes, sweetie, I was taking a break. I'm fine."

She smiled back. "Oh, okay, well, I'm going to count inventory out back," she walked beside him and stopped. "Are you sure you're okay?"

He forced the rapid heart beat to slow down. "Yes, dear, I'm fine, thank you for helping your old man."

With a nod, she went out back.

The bell rang once more and Alex remembered he still had a job to do, he shook the panic away, or if he couldn't, he wanted to at least control it enough so it wouldn't disrupt his work, for life didn't stop because he had a panic attack. 

A little voice in the back of his head, however, thought otherwise.

 _Don't forget what Burr did sixteen years ago, there is a reason you stopped contact_.

He shook his head once more. _How could I forget_.

Today was a new day, today was the same routine but today Phillip came home. He could put his fears and past behind him for a night, right?

Yes, he could. Today was a good day. Today Phillip came home.

Nothing could sour his mood. But Aaron Burr came close to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The notary and bodega are real NYC addresses, the distance Alex gives is real, and also, I know Hamilton wasn't left handed but I am and Lin is so, artistic license. And there's easter eggs all over this, from both shows to historical accuracy to things the Lin has actually said.
> 
> Dunno why but imagine Lin's hair like this: https://youtu.be/qI1XHAjuzw0


End file.
